By midmorning they had gained only four names and addresses, and these were not felt to be of much use, as they covered a period of six years. By midday the team had traced a lorry driver and a traveling salesman. Both had agreed to come in to the station to be questioned. The police were unsuccessful with the other two, as they no longer lived in England.
“I really think we should go to the secure unit,” Anna interrupted Hardwick again, and this time she got her way. Two officers took them through the maze of corridors, out past the main prison exercise yard and into the secure unit. They went through security checks, as before, to reach the secure unit’s recreational area. Four officers were present, reading newspapers, and they stood up to meet Anna and Barolli. They had arranged a table with one chair on one side and two on the other, near the exit into the unit’s exercise area. They offered tea or coffee, but both declined, Anna eager to get on with the talk.
Anna sat beside Barolli, removing files, a notepad, and pencil from her briefcase. The guards did not return to reading their papers but stood at various points in the room.
“He obviously knows we’re here,” Anna said, irritated by the delay.
One of the guards positioned by the aisle leading to Cameron’s cell announced that he was coming.
The prisoner strolled toward them.
“Good afternoon,” Welsh said, smiling as if joining friends in a tearoom. He carried a notebook and loose foolscap pages. “I presume I sit here.” He gestured to the vacant chair opposite Anna and Barolli.
Welsh was as perfectly groomed as before and this time wore his hair loose. It was thick and silky-looking, and he had a habit of tossing his head back and running his fingers through it to move it away from his face.
“Did you have a good trip up here?” he asked, sitting down and placing his notebook and papers in front of him, along with four sharpened pencils. These he laid out in a neat row. “There’s not a lot in the papers about our case,” he said, pointedly looking at Barolli and not at Anna. “All gone quiet, I suppose. Well, let’s see what we can do about that. Have you any developments that I should know about?”
“We’ve been following your suggestions after our last visit,” Barolli began.
Anna could barely stand it. Barolli appeared to be inflating Welsh’s already enormous ego.
“Good. Now, what I’ve been doing is studying maps of the motorway and circuitous routes, specifically focusing on ones possibly used by your killer.” Welsh laid out in front of him printed pages of maps, placing them side by side along the length of the table. “The red markings pinpoint the CCTV cameras.”
“We are aware of these routes and their security cameras,” Anna said coldly.
For the first time Welsh turned to look at her, but she held his gaze, and he turned back to pick up his notebook.
“It is imperative you discover how Margaret Potts traveled to the service stations. It’s possible she knew her killer, had even serviced him before.” He gave a soft laugh, amused by his wordplay, but as neither Barolli nor Anna reacted, he shrugged.
“Have you talked to any other women working the same way as your victim? They would certainly know her routine.” He glanced up. “Well — have you Anna?”
“We have interviewed a number of girls, but none knew her well or could give us her usual routine.”
Welsh’s pleasant manner dropped, and he pointed at Anna. “You should stop being so protective of your precious position, Detective Travis, and start listening to me. I believe the killer knew Margaret Potts. She was not a young woman; she’d worked the service stations for years, correct? She wasn’t a young druggie, wasn’t stupid enough to go with any punter, she’d check them out first. You think about getting up into a trucker’s cabin and giving him a blow job, even traveling with maybe more than one so she’d give it to both of them. They have beds or bunks for long haul, so she’d know which of the vehicles were a safe bet and not visible to the coppers or security guards. On the other hand, if it was just some punter in a car she’d clocked in the car park, she’d suss them out before plying her trade.” Welsh sniggered. “Let’s face it, the sort of punter that wants to do business with an old slag in a service station car park or on the hard shoulder of a motorway is more than likely to be a married man who isn’t getting it at home. Who’s to know what he’s been up to? His family couldn’t find out, as there’d be no trace on his credit cards; she was paid cash and not a lot, so they go on their way, and nobody is any the wiser.”
“That could possibly fit the profile of Margaret Potts, but we have two other victims, both young.”
“True enough,” Welsh agreed, “but as you don’t even have these two girls identified, you have no alternative but to concentrate on the first victim. I have another idea that you should look into because it’s possible, as I have said, that Potts knew her killer. What if he was closer to home than you have contemplated?”
“She was almost living rough,” Barolli said.
“She couldn’t live rough all the time — she had to have some bolthole she’d go to, and if you go back and check for someone she knew, you may find a motive to kill her.”
“What could be the motive?” Anna asked. She was reluctantly intrigued, as she was the only person who had met the ex-husband and his brother.
Welsh rocked back in his chair and closed his eyes. “Excitement, if it was someone who had a grudge against her, even hated her for what she was, a cheap whore. He knew how she earned her living, and he waited, tracking her moves, becoming more sexually aroused by what he was intending to do. Stalking her, watching her picking up clients, enjoying the risk it would be to surprise her. This excitement can last for months, and...”
He opened his eyes. His face was impassive, but his eyes were alert like an animal’s. “I know this excitement,” he said. “I’ve experienced it, and it is very, very pleasurable to keep your victim in sight, knowing what you intend to do to her: wrap your hands around her neck and strangle the life out of her, rape her. She will be yours to do what you want with, and that is also a sexual turn-on, to know what is coming.”
Anna opened her briefcase, replacing her notebook. She’d heard enough. She suspected he had an erection beneath the table, as all he was describing was his own sickness, his own pleasure in committing the murders for which he was in prison.
“He watched her,” Welsh went on, “and could even have offered her a lift to go to work. It seems no one saw her on the night of her death, correct? So this would be the night he planned to kill. He could have made some excuse that he needed to go up north on business. She might even have known that he wasn’t living in London. So that could be another clue: did she know someone who traveled around a lot? It could even be someone close to her — a husband, a lover, someone from her past.”
Anna felt the chills; could it have been one of the brothers? But she remained silent.
“You say she had no place to live, but if she was working the stations night after night, then she had to have earned quite a substantial amount. Did she pay it over to a pimp? Have you found any bank accounts, post office savings accounts? Did she have money? Was it worth killing her for? Any jewelry? It’s a motive that could link with the possibility that she knew her killer and they knew what she was worth.”
Again, Anna recalled that Emerald had said Margaret worked alone and had no pimp but relied on her contacts, her brother-in-law, looking out for her. There was also the stylish tracksuit that Emerald was wearing, the suitcase full of clothes that she had said were not worth anything. What if there had been more, like the diamond ring her husband had said belonged to his mother. Could Margaret Potts have had more possessions than they had estimated? She had the sense that Cameron Welsh was able to read her mind, and he was touching on possible motives that no one else on the team had considered.